


When red and blue collide

by 0akdown



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, And a reckless shithead, Bucky was born in 1984, Hes a secret agent, M/M, Steve is Captain America
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 04:49:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5954206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0akdown/pseuds/0akdown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky Barnes became a SHIELD special agent so he could be like his childhood hero Captain America, but once they actually go on a mission together, Bucky realizes that Captain America is way too reckless and can not take care of himself. So what happens if Bucky gets assigned as Captain Americas personal bodyguard?</p>
            </blockquote>





	When red and blue collide

[Title Card](http://stanfordtheauthor.tumblr.com/post/138945138445/title-card-to-my-fanfiction-when-red-collides)

**Chapter 1**

 

The metal under the Agents feet made no sound as he slowly advanced on the side of the boat. The thin reinforced rope that held his entire weight was pulling strongly on the straps securing his gear to his body. A stray lock fell out of the tightly knit bun of hair on his head, lightly brushing the goggles in front of his eyes.

  
He was breathing slowly, his fingers closed tightly around the butt of his gun, index finger straining alongside the slide. He took another step towards the small porthole. He crouched down, feeling the gravity pull on his stomach and grinning at the black waves below. He peeked through the glass, looking at the room while he slowly felt the blood flow into his head.

  
The inside was dipped in a low, golden light. The Agent was able to make out a table, a small bed and a wardrobe. To a bystanders eye, the room might have seemed significant, but then again a bystander wouldnt be hanging upside down from a metal rope with the ocean raging below their head. The Agent stashed away his gun in a holster on his left leg and reached around his side to grab the small device that was secured to his back, carefully bringing it to the glass and attaching it with a suction cup on the devices side.

  
He grinned again and pushed a button that lightly pulled him up again, taking a few, soft steps back from the porthole. He watched in faded amazement how the device began to glow in a dull red color, before bright crimson cracks were shooting through the glass, and for a second the round window was alight, like a bizarre mandala. Just a fraction of a second later the light was gone, and so was the glass. The Agent let out a small breath that he didn't realize he had been holding, and advanced again.

  
He tightly gripped the edge of the porthole, and shifted his weight on his arms, heaving himself through the small opening. Once he was inside, he landed on light feet, detaching the rope from his belt. He swiftly walked towards the wardrobe, opening the doors. Inside were a few pieces of clothing on some coathangers, but that wasn't what the Agent was interested in. He pushed the wooden backside of the wardrobe, which promptly gave in and slid upwards to reveal a pad with the numbers 0-9 on it. The Agent undid the button of one of his belt puches and produced a small, button-like object, that he stuck to the pad.

  
The numbers on the pad started glowing in a dim shade of red. First came the 4, then the 8. He pushed the according keys, and different numbers lit up again. He repeated the process a few times, before the pad made a hissing noise, and moved backwards before sliding up as well. In a small, secured space behind it was a sleek, black phone. The Agent carefully took it out of the safe and into his pouch. Then he puched a button on the device on his wrist that somewhat resembled a watch. He closed the doors of the wardrobe and took a step back, when suddenly he heard a noise.

 

He jerked away from the door, and fluidly jumped behind the desk. Without making a sound he pulled a knife out of a sheath on his hip. And assumed a battle stance, crouching behind his makeshift hideout, ready to pounce. The door opened just a second later, the heavy footsteps of two armed men approaching. He heard muttered curses in russian as one of the men pulled open the doors to the wardrobe. The Agent dared to slowly glance over the smooth top of the desk. One of the men was tall and baldheaded, armed with a regular pistol, while the one that had cursed was holding a semi-automatic in his right hand.

  
The Agent grabbed the edge of the desk and pushed it as strongly as he could, the wooden table flying at the two men, catching them by surprise. The bald one recovered quickly and raised his gun, but the Agent was quicker. He smoothly grabbed and slit his throat in one, fluid motion. The man couldn't even make a sound as the Agent dropped him to the ground.

 

The other man seemed shocked for a second, and that was all the Agent needed. He hit the mans wrist with the handle of his knife, which made a sickening crack. The man let out a scream and dropped his gun. The Agent tried to grab the mans throat with his left hand, but the other had taken out a knife as well, stabbing the air as the Agent quickly withdrew his arm. The other man was scared to death, that much was evident. The fear was so clear in his green eyes, before he screwed them shut, yelled in desperation and swung the knife at the Agent.

  
There was a high, metallic screech, and the knife was stopped by the forearm of the Agent, who grinned manically at the man, the metal of his arm shining in the low light of the room. The Agent stabbed the other man in the chest, hitting the heart in a well practiced motion and withdrew it as the man dropped to the ground. There was noise outside now, a few voices were shouting things, and the loud, unmistakable sound of a flying helicopter. The Agent squeezed his belt pouch to make sure the phone was still there, and squeezed himself through the porthole again. The cool ocean air tugging at his hair, as he grabbed the edge of the window with his left arm and held hiself up on the sleek metal wall of the boat.

  
He inhaled deeply, tasting salt and smelling algea, and he laughed, threw his head back and opened his eyes as wide as he could. The night was clear, and he could see every single star. There was one particularly close to the silver moon, shining brightly. The Agent grinned widely and looked at the vast, unruly ocean again, at the horizon where the water met the sky and became one, and he knew that this was what fate had always wanted for him.


End file.
